The Seance (22 page)

Smith nodded. “Yeah. They kept her in the hospital overnight, but the doctors say she just tripped and banged the back of her head. It was a mild concussion, nothing more.” He hesitated. “Thank God. We don't want another Patti Jo.”

“No, we don't. Anyway, I'm glad to hear she's doing well,” Dan said, and forced a smile. “Well, good night, then. Guess I'll take off this makeup and head out.”

“Got a Halloween party to go to, huh?”

“I'm sure I can find something to do with an unexpected night off,” Dan replied.

 

It was dark.

Angela McDuff noticed just how dark the minute she left the salon. The bright forest-green neon lights over at O'Reilly's had gone on, deepening the shadows and rendering them even more mysterious. She shouldn't have made an appointment for so late, she supposed, but she'd needed to have her hair done. After all, appearances were everything in her business. And she meant to offer a damn good appearance wherever she went. Because she sure as hell didn't intend to stay here.

Not that Orlando could be considered a hick town. Not these days. It had too much going on, thanks to the multiple tourist attractions that drove the area. But it had been a one-horse hick town once, and it was still surrounded by hick towns full of old Florida crackers, and she absolutely was not going to stay here forever.

There was only one place for a woman of her talents and abilities. Hollywood. And she didn't mean Hollywood, Florida.

She swore softly, not sure why she was quite so worried, except that she had seen him today, and the absolute hatred in his eyes when he looked at her now, well, that was scary.

And then there were the murders. Women were just so damn vulnerable.

With long strides, she headed for the parking lot, noticing along the way that shadows seemed to be everywhere. She cursed the fact that the mall had planted so many trees, because in her overactive imagination, it seemed as if someone was hiding behind every one of them.

It was just because she was alone, she told herself. Because it was so dark. And it had to be the darkness that made the air feel cooler, and the breeze that made the trees sound as if they were whispering.

There was someone behind her, she realized. A man. She risked a quick glance, and even in the darkness she could tell that he had on a dark sweatshirt and a baseball cap. His shoulders were hunched over, and he was gaining on her.

The cap must be to conceal his identity. And his clothing was dark so he could move unnoticed through the night.

She told herself not to be ridiculous, that she was all right. She reached into her purse and pulled out her keys. She would reach her own car in a minute and set off the alarm.

She forced herself to quicken her pace, but not to run.

Just then she was blinded by headlights.

“Hey, are you all right?” someone called out to her.

She let out a sigh of relief and looked quickly over her shoulder. Whoever had been following her was gone. She felt giddy inside and walked past the car, waving to thank her savior. She smiled, catching a glimpse of the interior of the vehicle.

A moment later, she was inside it.

And she knew everything she shouldn't know. Mainly…

That she was going to die.

J
erry Dwyer and Mal O'Donnell were attending Allison Chesney's wake, taking a shift and representing the city's finest. They stayed to the rear of the room, where Jed and Christina joined them.

Jed spoke quietly with Jerry while they scoped out the attendees. There wasn't much in the way of family. No parents, just an aunt and a number of cousins. The aunt was a dignified woman with blazing red hair who had thanked them for coming when they entered.

Christina stepped over to speak with her, and Jed could see that the aunt was grateful for her words. After a while, when the pew in front of the coffin was empty, Christina walked over to it, knelt down and lowered her head in prayer.

Watching her, he couldn't help feeling uneasy. What did she think she was doing? Talking to the dead? Did she think Allison Chesney would sit up and begin to chat?

He stayed away from the coffin himself. He'd been to the autopsy, and that was more than enough for him.

While Christina did…whatever she was doing, he thought about the pressure the police were under to solve this case. Though he couldn't see them, he knew that several hundreds of people were lined up outside the funeral home. They were quiet and orderly, out of respect for the family, but they all bore placards demanding that the police find the killer.

At last Jed walked over to Christina, ready to get her attention and lead her away. He couldn't help but look down at the body of Allison Chesney.

The undertaker had done a good job, but it didn't matter. No matter what anyone did, there was no escaping the fact that she looked like exactly what she was: dead.

He'd seen people look deader, he thought. Was there even such a thing as deader?

This poor woman did look almost as if she could sit up and talk.

Margaritte had never looked that way.

He closed his eyes, and in his mind he saw his wife lying in the coffin, her features gray and skeletal. What if Margaritte could suddenly sit up and…

He took Christina's elbow to get her attention. “We need to go,” he said stiffly.

She nodded.

They were silent as they walked out.

He had scanned the guests in the funeral parlor and searched through the crowd outside, hoping to trigger something in his mind, some memory. He knew Jerry and Mal had done the same, hoping the killer would show up.

And he probably had. He was most likely one of the people ringing the mortuary carrying a placard demanding his own capture.

When they reached her house, he turned off the engine and sat in the drive. She didn't seem to notice at first.

Being at the wake had been hard for her, he knew, but he couldn't change the way he was feeling right then, and he just didn't have any sympathy to give—especially when he knew she was lying to him about what she thought she was seeing and what Adam Harrison was doing there. Finally he said, “I'll walk you in.”

She stared at him with a slightly puzzled expression on her face. Then her expression changed, resigned at first, followed by full-scale angry.

“Don't worry. I can find my door from here,” she told him. He caught her arm with a groan when she started to exit the car, and she turned and glared at him angrily. “I'm sorry. I apologize for embarrassing you with Katherine Kidd,” she said politely.

“Look, I just don't believe in ghosts. I'm sure you've got your reasons for thinking you see the dead rising, but I just don't believe in the possibility myself.”

“Excuse me?”

“You are seeing ghosts, right?” he demanded.

“Singular, sorry,” she snapped.

“Beau Kidd.”

“Look, I'm not trying to hurt Katherine or anyone else,” she said. “I don't want to see Beau Kidd. And I'm sorry you got involved with someone you think is a fruitcake. But don't worry. You can walk away. Ana and I will still be friends, but you don't have to have anything to do with me.” She stared at him, her eyes cobalt with indignation. “Now let me go.”

He had no choice but to do so, and the minute he did, she slammed her way out of the car.

“Christina!” he said, following, catching her arm again.

Just then Tony Lowell's minivan, with Tony at the wheel and Ilona beside him, pulled into their drive next door. Jed groaned inwardly at the thought that they could see what was going on, and who the hell knew what they would think. It looked like trouble in paradise over here for sure, and they were both looking at him with disapproval.

“Hey, guys!” Christina called to them, and forced a smile.

They drove on toward their garage, but they didn't look convinced.

“Look, Christina—”

“Please, just let me go. I'm safe. I have friends staying with me. Go keep an eye on Katherine Kidd, why don't you? I'm sure she could use your help.”

He couldn't tell whether she sincerely meant that he should be looking after another potential victim, or if there was a touch of jealousy in her words.

Maybe he wanted her to be a little bit jealous, he thought.

“What does that mean?” he asked her.

She shook her head, staring at him. “I don't know. I don't know what anything means at the moment. Good night.”

As she started toward the house, the door opened. Genevieve was standing there, another witness to the whole thing, he suspected.

Killer came rushing out to meet his mistress. He jumped up and down, happy to see Christina, then made a beeline for Jed, who bent down to pet the dog.

“Killer, come on in now,” Christina called, and the little dog ran back over to her. From the doorway, Genevieve said something to her, and she turned and stared at Jed. “You are coming tomorrow night, aren't you?” she asked.

“Why? What's the big deal with tomorrow night?” he asked, pushing, hoping for the truth at last.

“Adam thinks…” Her voice trailed off, and she looked away.

“What?” he asked harshly. “What does Adam think?”

She looked at him again, and said in a rush, “Adam thinks we should have a séance. He thinks it might help catch the killer.” Her eyes met his pleadingly. “Will you come? Please?”

“I don't know.”

“Whatever,” she said lightly, then walked inside.

He didn't have to tell her to lock the door. He heard the bolt snap into place.

 

“Do you think he was there?” Adam asked.

She jumped, having lost total track of the conversation. She had tried not to appear upset about Jed, since no one there knew about the details of their relationship. Actually, she didn't really know the details of it herself, she realized in mocking silence. Still, there was no reason to let anyone else know she was upset, so when she'd come in, she had started talking about the wake.

“It's very possible that the killer was there,” Adam said, answering his own question.

“I think half the state was there,” she told him.

“What about Beau?” Adam asked. “Is he here?”

Genevieve had made tea, which they were all sipping now in the parlor. She hadn't seen Beau Kidd since she'd come in, though. Great. No Jed, and now no Beau.

She shook her head. “Beau isn't here. But the problem is, he doesn't know anything. He thinks the real killer was somewhere behind Larry Atkins, his partner, and that's why he pulled his weapon. But Larry thought Beau was aiming at him, so he shot him. And since he died and never got the chance to explain, everyone decided he was the Interstate Killer and they stopped looking for anyone else. So he's haunting me, haunting this house…but he can't help.”

Adam was quiet, thoughtful. “What about the funeral?” he finally asked her.

“It was sad.”

“I mean…”

“He wants to know if the victim haunted her own services,” Genevieve explained.

Christina shook her head. “No,” she said softly. “Or if she did, she didn't show herself to me.”

“I still say that tomorrow's séance will change things,” Adam said.

“How?” Christina asked. “Will other people be able to see Beau?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Adam told her.

“Then what…?”

Thor came over and sat on the couch next to her, taking her hands. “Hey, look at me. You can't imagine a bigger doubter than me.”

She smiled, thinking, Oh, yes, I can. He just left a few minutes ago.

“We will discover something tomorrow night,” Thor promised her.

“I'm not sure Jed will be here, though,” Christina said.

“He'll show. I guarantee you,” Adam said. “He'll show.”

 

Life could be a real bitch sometimes, she thought. She'd slept alone most of her life. Jed Braden had slept with her for only two days, yet she felt the loss as if she were bereft of a limb. What an idiot she was. She should have known better than to fall so quickly. Hell, hadn't she known her whole life not to fall for him at all?

“Hey, you okay?”

She had been brushing her hair in front of the old full-length mirror by her bureau. She could see Beau in the mirror, making himself comfortable in the overstuffed chair.

“I'm fine.”

“I didn't mean to…chase Jed away.”

“Don't worry. I did that all on my own.”

He smiled sympathetically, then moved on to what was really concerning him. “I wish Kitty would believe you…believe in me.”

Christina wasn't feeling all that generous toward Katherine Kidd at that particular moment, but she refrained from saying so to Beau. “She does believe in you, Beau. She's believed in your innocence all these years. And I'm sure there were many times when it wasn't easy.”

“Yeah, I guess,” he said. “I just wish she believed I was here now.”

She turned to face him. “You're a ghost—that's pretty hard for most people to believe. But you're here for a reason. We have to figure out this case, Beau. I went to Allison's wake tonight. It's so unfair. There has to be a reason why you're here. Can't you tell me anything?”

“I've told you everything I know,” he said irritably.

She walked over to the foot of the bed, sat across from him and set a hand on his knee. It felt real, as if she really were touching something. Someone.

“We're having a séance tomorrow night. Adam thinks it will help.”

“I hope so,” he said, though he didn't sound entirely convinced. “Where is Jed, anyway?” he asked her.

“Looking after your sister, I hope,” she said lightly.

“Yeah, I hope so, too. Oh, sorry. I hope that I'm not ruining your relationship. I do take off whenever it seems that…well, let's just say I'm not a voyeur.”

“I don't think it matters anymore, anyway,” she murmured, rising. “I'm going to brush my teeth, wash my face, turn in.” As she walked toward the bathroom, she heard Killer barking at her bedroom door. “Hey, let him in, will you?” she asked.

The door opened, and Killer bounded in. It wasn't until she had a mouthful of toothpaste that she realized she had asked a ghost to open a door, and he had done so.

She walked back out. “You opened the door.”

“Yeah. I make coffee, too, remember?” Beau said.

She smiled. “I just…well, you know. Ghosts are supposed to be insubstantial, able to walk through walls, stuff like that.”

He shrugged. “Sometimes I know where you are, and I can just…be there. Sometimes I can't. Sometimes I can move things, and other times I can't. I didn't get instructions on how to be a ghost, you know.”

“I guess not.”

He smiled at her. “Go to bed. I guess I cost you the guy of your dreams tonight, but I'll be watching over you. I guess that doesn't mean much, huh?”

She walked around and kissed his cheek. He really did feel solid, and even warm.

“Thank you, Beau,” she said. “Good night.”

Killer curled up at the bottom of the bed. She missed Jed with a longing that was both emotional and physical, but it was still good to have the dog at her feet.

And the ghost of Beau Kidd standing watch.

 

The dream began just as it had the first time.

There was the feeling of being confined. Tied up. The awful darkness.

She was trying so hard to make a sound, to scream, but she was bound and gagged, and the worst was that she knew what was coming next. There was terror in the darkness, because soon her tormentor would come back.

She listened for the telltale footsteps, and every cell in her body seemed to scream. She would die. Eventually, she would die. The time would come when she was no longer entertaining, and then…

She started to fight the terror, clawing her way to consciousness. She was in her own bed; her Jack Russell was lying with her. She had to wake up, had to wake up….